


I Never Finish Phrases, I Misspell

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Puppies, References to Animal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 18:32:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6435703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke has never spoken to the cute vet who works at the animal hospital around the corner, but when she finds a stray puppy, that's obviously her first stop. It gets kind of out of hand from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Never Finish Phrases, I Misspell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elizardbits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizardbits/gifts).



> Liz texted me the following the other day: "Oh my god chash i dreamed that clarke found a pitbull puppy from a dog fighting ring and she contacted a pitbull rescue and they told her she wasn't a good enough candidate to foster it for whatever uptight rescue group reasons so she told them she was dating bellamy the vet whose office she passes every day on the way to work but they don't actually know each other yet other then friendly nods every so often"
> 
> And obviously I had to write that because, one, it is AMAZING, and two, Liz is having dreams about a pairing from a show she doesn't even watch because I'm a terrible influence, so obviously I have to encourage that.

The only reason Clarke hears the whimpering is that her earbuds are broken.

She's still wearing them, of course, because Clarke wears headphones like armor, at this point, to keep people from trying to interact with her, and she feels naked and exposed without them. It's probably one of her many millennial failings, but, honestly, she doesn't give a fuck. She's been having a really shitty day already: not only are her earbuds broken, but work was a mess, it's raining, and her bus didn't come, so she's walking the mile and a half home in the rain just because she needs wine and pajamas as soon as possible, and the next bus isn't coming soon enough.

That's when she hears the dog.

Even with the earbuds broken, she's surprised she can hear the faint noise, the hopeless little whine. She pauses, listens hard, and there it is again, no louder, but she's sure. When she looks around, she spots a dumpster, hears the whimpering again, and that's definitely the source.

She kneels down and looks under the dumpster, trying to see what's going on. It's dark, but not dark enough that she can't see the small, scared puppy. It whimpers again and moves back, and she holds out her hand, hoping it will be enough. When the puppy still doesn't come closer, she pulls back, assesses her options. She doesn't have any food on her, but there's a convenience store on the corner, and she goes and finds some cheap wet dog food, brings it back and tries to lure the dog out, because--well, there's a whimpering puppy stuck under a dumpster. Why would she ignore that? Anyone who doesn't help a puppy stuck under a dumpster is an asshole.

It still takes a while sitting and waiting next to the food before the puppy comes out, and Clarke waits as it devours the entire can before she offers her hand again. The puppy sniffs, hesitant, and then wags its little whip tail. She's not an expert on dogs, but she thinks it looks like a pitbull, and it's obviously too thin and very cold.

"Hi," she says, reaching out to pet the puppy's head. It flinches a little, but when she stops immediately, it comes closer, curious, and she finally manages to get it to let her touch it, rubbing her hand gently on its stubby fur. "Hey. You were hungry, huh?" 

Its tail is wagging hard now, its eyes closed, and her heart twists. It looks too beat up to be a beloved pet that got away; honestly, it looks like it's never had anyone petting its ears before in its life.

"Good puppy," she says. "You're a good puppy. We're gonna get you checked out in a minute. Lucky for you, I live next to a vet's office, so I know just where to take you. But I think they close at seven, so we need to go soon, I don't want to miss him. If I pick you up, are you gonna bite me?"

Being a puppy, it doesn't respond, so Clarke just shrugs off her cardigan and wraps it around the puppy, making soothing noises until it stops squirming. 

She was most of the way home when she heard the dog, so she doesn't have long to take it before she hits the Northern Arcadia Animal Hospital, a small, bright building that she passes every day. She's never gone in before, because she's never had any reason to go in. She's never had a pet, and she's always managed to resist the temptation of their various adoption drives, because she's pretty sure if she went in to look at a bunch of kittens, she'd end up with at least one, if not an entire boxful.

But she knows the vet, sort of. He's outside in the mornings sometimes; when it's nice out, he tends to drink his coffee on the steps, wind ruffling his curly black hair. She knows his name is Bellamy Blake from the sign, and she thinks he's a few years older than she is. He wears glasses and has freckles and smiles at Clarke when she passes.

Having an excuse to go in and actually interact with him really isn't the worst thing.

It's quarter to seven when she gets there, damp and hungry and somehow less annoyed, because at least she's got a puppy to focus on. 

"Sorry," she says to the girl at the reception desk. "I know you guys are about to close, but I found this puppy on my way home and I wanted to get it checked out? It's really thin and I would have brought it sooner but I had to get it to let me touch it."

The girl smiles, leans in to look at the puppy. "That's okay. Where did you find it?"

"Under a dumpster. I got it some food at the 7-11 to get it out, but it's probably pretty hungry still. It looks really thin."

"Yeah," the girl says. She looks back. "Bell's just finishing up with his last appointment. You can leave it here if you want, unless--"

Clarke's arms tighten on the puppy. "No, I'll wait, if that's okay. I want to make sure it's--I don't know. I don't want to leave it alone."

"Sure, that's fine. You can have a seat." She tilts her head at Clarke. "You live nearby, right? I've seen you."

"I live around the corner, yeah. Clarke Griffin," she adds, shifting the puppy so she can offer her hand.

"Octavia Blake." Clarke has a second of disappointment that the cute vet is married, but then she adds, "The vet's my brother."

"Oh, cool. Family business?"

"Kind of." She gives Clarke a conspiratorial smile. "Honestly, Bell just likes knowing I have a steady job and decent paycheck, and I like working somewhere I can interact with a lot of baby animals. Which is awesome, so I'm not complaining."

Clarke smiles. "Yeah, that's a pretty great perk. The museum helps pay for my bus pass, but, honestly, I'd rather they just let me play with kittens a couple times a week."

"Right?" says Octavia. "Plus, Bell's really overprotective, so my insurance plan is _awesome_. You can have a seat if you want? Just relax, he'll be with you in a minute."

Before she can sit down, Dr. Bellamy Blake comes out of the back, chatting with a guy and a little girl who are leading a dog of their own out. He looks surprised at the sight of Clarke, but gives her his usual bright smile. "O, Juniper is all set," he says. He has a nice voice too, low and rough. "Schedule her for another rabies shot next year, but everything else looks good." He turns his attention to Clarke. "Hey, neighbor."

"Hi. I found a puppy. Your sister said you could take a look? Sorry, I know you're basically done for the day."

"No, it's no problem." He comes over, leans down to inspect the puppy. "Hey, little guy. Looks like you're having a sh--" He glances at the little girl with the dog. "A bad day," he corrects. "Come on, we'll take you guys to a room and get you checked out."

"Thanks."

"No problem," he says. "It's my job. I'm Bellamy, by the way."

"Not Dr. Blake?"

"If you want. But we're neighbors, right?"

She smiles. "We are neighbors. I'm Clarke."

"You can put it down on the table," he says. He leans over to wash his hands in the sink while Clarke gets the puppy out of the cardigan and onto the table. It looks a little lost and off balance, and she scratches under its chin. "Where did you find it?" he adds.

"Under a dumpster. I heard it whimpering when I was walking home. It didn't really really look like it just got away from a happy home."

Bellamy offers his hand for the puppy to sniff, grins when it tentatively licks his fingers. "Awesome, no one taught you to be afraid of the vet yet. I get to do that." 

He talks through what he's doing, absently, telling Clarke that the puppy is a boy, probably about twelve to fourteen weeks, a pitbull, like she thought. He gets quieter and his frown grows as he goes on, and she finally prompts, "Bellamy?"

He looks up. "What?"

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, uh--" Huffing, he takes off his glove to run his hand through his hair. "I think he was probably--I think he must have gotten away from some sort of dog fighting ring. Just looking at his injuries and the way he's acting. Scared, but starved for affection, and some other behavioral markers."

Clarke feels a bright spark of anger. "Dog fighting?" she asks.

"Yeah," he says, scratching the puppy's ear. "Jesus. I think we should, uh--there's a pitbull rescue over in Polis?" he offers. "I think it's probably a good idea to take him over there tomorrow, and let them take a look. He's healthy from what I can see, but I'm not really an expert on this." 

"Oh."

He gives her a smile. "Were you, uh--did you want to keep him?"

It's a good question. Clarke's never really had a pet before; her mother didn't really like them, and her dad might have been on her side, but he had allergies. She'd had a hamster for two years in elementary school, after a great deal of wheedling, and she'd liked it, but it wasn't really like having a dog or a cat. And she'd never really been able to give herself permission to get a pet of her own, somehow. It didn't feel like a decision she was ready to make. Having a pet is--it's a lot of responsibility, still.

"I did, yeah," she admits.

"Cool," he says, with an encouraging smile. "That's awesome. You got him to come out and let you hold him, so that's a good sign. But, yeah. I think you should let them check him out first. He can stay here overnight--"

"Here?" she asks.

"What's wrong with here?" She'd worry he was offended, but it looks like he's trying not to smile.

"He shouldn't be alone," Clarke says. "He's cold and scared and hungry, he's been alone enough."

"You live around the corner, right?"

"Yeah."

He nods, but his next question is, "Have you ever had a puppy?"

"Nope."

"Any pets?"

"No."

"Okay, so--I'll take him home tonight." Her surprise must be apparent, because his smile upgrades to a grin. "Seriously, puppies need a lot of stuff, even for just a night. I know what to do, you don't. I'll take him home, he won't be alone. And when I drop him off at the rescue, I'll give them your name and contact information, so you can be at the top of the list to foster him."

"You don't mind?" she asks. "I didn't mean to sign you up for this."

"Nah, I don't mind. I do it sometimes, for special occasions."

She squints at him. "Are you just humoring me?"

"Humoring you?"

"Telling me the puppy is going home with you, but--"

He laughs. "I promise I will take this puppy home with me. Cross my heart."

"Then--thanks."

"Sure. Bringing a cute puppy home isn't really a hardship, honestly."

"Yeah, when you put it like that, I feel like you're depriving me."

"Like an asshole," he agrees. "Come on out and give O your information, okay? So we can get you in touch with the rescue."

"Does he need shots or anything? Toys? I can get him toys."

"I've got it," Bellamy says, gently. "Seriously, Clarke. No offense, and I know I don't know you, but you look cold and wet and exhausted, so tell my sister how to get in touch with you and I'll call tomorrow when I have news." He clears his throat. "Or, uh, probably she will, but--whichever of us has time. I promise we'll keep you in the loop."

"Does he have bills? I can help cover it."

She mostly asked to make him smile again, and it works. "It's fine. I'll send you a bill if I have to, okay? We're set. I'll make sure he's taken care of."

"Okay. Thanks."

"Thanks for bringing him in," he says. "We'll talk to you tomorrow."

She gives Octavia her name, address, cell, and work number, and Octavia assures her that Bellamy will take care of the puppy, because he wouldn't have become a vet if he didn't want to take care of everything in the entire world that's smaller and more defenseless than he is.

But she can't help feeling a little guilty going home, showering, and getting set up on her couch in her pajamas with wine, knowing that the puppy is out there and not knowing if he's okay, but--Bellamy definitely has this. He's a vet. He's more capable of caring for puppies than she is, honestly.

Still, she feels so, so much better when she gets a text from an unknown number an hour later and sees it's a picture of the puppy next to someone's pajama-clad thigh, one large, tan hand on the puppy's back. The caption says, _He's doing fine, promise_ , and she saves the number as _Bellamy Blake_.

*

He's on the steps drinking coffee when she goes to work, a little earlier than usual, because she was hoping he'd be there and she could say hi. The puppy is in his lap.

"Has anyone ever told you you work long hours?" she asks. "You start before me and finish after." The puppy perks up and looks at her, tail thumping against Bellamy's leg, and she reaches down to help him sniff and lick her. And then she has to sit down next to him so the puppy can wriggle into her lap and lick her face too.

"My sister, all the time," he says. "Morning."

"Morning. How's he doing?"

"Fine. Doesn't have great bladder control, so that's something to keep in mind if you take him."

"Shit, sorry."

"Again, I'm used to this. But it'll be fun for you to deal with."

"Thanks."

"Still want him?"

"Still want him." She smiles. "I do live right near a vet, if I have any emergencies."

"You do live right near a vet, that's true. Convenient. Someone from the rescue is coming by to get him soon."

"Cool. Any idea how long it takes them to evaluate or whatever?"

"Not really. But I promise if they call us instead of you, we'll keep you posted." He reaches over to pet the puppy in her lap, his shoulder brushing against hers. "He's gonna be fine, Clarke."

"He better be." She gives the puppy one final scratch. "Have a good day, boy. Play nice with the rescue people." And then she puts him back in Bellamy's lap. "You have a good day too," she adds to Bellamy, feeling more awkward about that.

He raises his mug of coffee in acknowledgement. "Thanks, you too."

She has trouble concentrating on work, which isn't exactly uncommon. She works in the graphic design department for the science museum, which was the kind of job that sounded really cool when she applied for and got it, but she has now realized involves a nightmarish bureaucracy and a lot of weirdly passive aggressive people who tell her everything she does is "Great, _except_." It's still cool sometimes, but she also wants to murder ninety percent of her coworkers.

Bellamy texts her at 9:24: _Puppy is on his way to the rescue. Lincoln said they'd call you today or tomorrow._

Part of her wants to ask if text updates are standard practice, but she figures if she does, he might stop, so instead she says, _Thanks, I appreciate you keeping me posted._

He doesn't respond directly, but at 2:09, he does follow up with, _Five animals have peed on me today, in case you didn't believe me that dog urine isn't a big deal in my life._ A minute later, he adds, _That text seemed more normal in my head._

Clarke lets out a soft snort of laughter, and her supervisor, Dante, shoots her a look. She smiles at him, texts back, _No, no, that was the most normal text I've ever gotten about animal pee._

 _Cool, that's what I like to hear._ And then, _Tell me if you hear from the pitbull place?_

_Will do, don't worry._

The call comes just before four o'clock; Clarke straightens at the sound of the phone, brushes off her blouse and makes sure she's in order, even though it makes no sense. The person on the other end of the phone can't _see_ her. It's a state of mind.

"Arcadia Science Museum, this is Clarke Griffin. How may I help you?"

"This is Lexa Allen from Polis Pitbull Rescue. We got your number from Dr. Blake's office?"

"Yeah, hi. I was hoping you would call. How's he doing?" Lexa lets out a noise that does not, to Clarke, sound encouraging, and her heart lodges in her throat. "Is he hurt? Bellamy said he was okay--"

"He's not hurt, but--what can you tell me about your background, Ms. Griffin?"

"Clarke is fine. What about my background?"

"Have you ever fostered a dog before?"

"No."

"Do you have a dog now?"

"No."

"How many have you had in the past?"

"None."

She makes another worrying noise. "None?"

"No. I've never really had another pet before," she admits. "But I always wanted one."

"Clarke, I'm going to be blunt," says Lexa. "I don't think you're a good match for this dog."

"Because I've never had a pet?" she asks, dubious.

"Rescue dogs are tricky. This one was taken away from his mother too early, and he hasn't been raised well so far. Which is normal, but with a dog like this, we prefer to put him with someone with more experience."

"But--he likes me," says Clarke, heart in her throat. "And I don't--I've never had a dog before, but Bellamy will help." It's a weird thing to say, maybe, but she's pretty sure he'll be happy to answer any random questions she has. He's a good resource. And he seems more than willing.

"Bellamy?"

"Dr. Blake. He'll be around if I have questions."

"Oh, Lincoln didn't mention," says Lexa. "He only said you were the one who found the dog, not that you were involved with Dr. Blake. That does change things. How long have the two of you been together?"

Clarke opens and shuts her mouth. As lies go, it's probably fairly minor. Bellamy _will_ help out, she's sure. Maybe not on the level of an actual boyfriend involved in some sort cohabitation situation, but--he'll definitely help. So it's kind of a lie, but not a _huge_ lie. And Clarke can do this. She knows she can.

"A couple months," she says.

"In that case, I think we could let you try out fostering," she says, slow. "On a trial basis. Obviously the animal's welfare is out top priority--"

"Obviously," Clarke says. "If we can't handle it, we'll inform you immediately."

"All right. I'll have Lincoln take the dog back to Dr. Blake's office on his way home. At around six, if that works for you?"

Clarke lets out a silent breath. "Yeah, that's fine. I can be there. And Bellamy will be working anyway, so it shouldn't be a problem if I'm running late."

"Fine, you can do the paperwork there," Lexa says, brisk. "And Lincoln will bring it back to us on Monday."

"Sure, sounds good. I'll be there. Thank you so much."

"Of course. Let us know if you have any problems."

"Will do," says Clarke, hangs up the phone, and stares at it for a minute. Then she looks at her cell, which seems vaguely accusatory.

Is texting _I accidentally told the rescue place that we're dating to get custody of a dog_ weirder than texting about dog pee? She's not actually sure how they compare, honestly. It could go either way.

On the other hand, it's Friday and an hour before her regular quitting time, and Dante's already gone. And, honestly, this feels like an in-person conversation.

She grabs her stuff and takes off.

*

When she gets to Bellamy's office, he's leaning against the reception desk, talking to his sister. They both look up and smile at the sight of her; it's a lot of attractiveness to take in, all at once.

"Hey, Clarke!" says Octavia.

"When do you actually work?" Bellamy adds, sounding curious.

"Usually, nine to five-thirty. I left early today." She wets her lips. "They're bringing the dog back over at around six so I can take him."

Bellamy beams. "Yeah? Awesome."

"Yeah, but--they didn't really want me to."

"Why not?" asks Octavia.

"Apparently he's got some issues, because--left his mom too early, trained to fight, stuff like that. I guess they didn't really think he was a very good starter dog. So I told them you'd help and I guess they thought I meant we were dating?"

Bellamy blinks at her. "Us?" he finally manages.

"Yeah, I didn't really--she said that made a difference, so I just kind of went with it." Octavia looks _delighted_ ; Bellamy looks like he might choke. "You don't have to do anything except reply to my frantic texts and, you know. Be my vet, obviously."

He clears his throat. "Yeah, no, I was sort of, uh--planning on that. I'm invested now, so--yeah. If anyone asks, I'll just--yeah. I'm cool with minor relationship fraud for the greater good. And I was going to, uh--do you have a car?"

Clarke's not sure how the question follows, but given Bellamy is being surprisingly chill about the whole thing, she figures she can go with it. "No car."

"Yeah, I figured, uh--if you need a ride to Petsmart, I could take you? And help you get, uh. Stuff. Since it's your first dog, I figured you might appreciate some guidance anyway."

"You really don't have to," Clarke says immediately, because that seems like a lot to expect. It would be really helpful, but--still.

"I don't mind," he says, with a shrug. "Like I said, I'm invested now. But it's up to you."

"No, that would be really great, honestly." She smiles. "I'll buy you a pizza or something."

"And then when I come over to eat it, you trick me into helping you set up all the stuff I told you to buy," he says, nodding. "I can see how this is going to go."

"Do puppies need stuff that requires extensive setup?" she asks, frowning.

"You probably want--" He starts, but the door opens and a woman comes in with a cat carrier. Bellamy gives Clarke a quick smile. "Uh, we'll talk about it later? I close at six on Fridays, so we can probably go after you get the dog."

"Thanks. Really. You're being surprisingly cool about--literally everything."

"That's me, surprisingly cool." He pushes off the counter and turns his attention to the woman. "Hey, Iris. Magellan is having trouble breathing?"

"And his appetite is down," says the woman.

"All right, come on in, let's see how he's doing."

Clarke can't help watching him go, but the sound of Octavia clearing her throat pulls her back. She offers the other girl a smile. "Sorry, zoning out."

"Uh huh," says Octavia, with a total dismissiveness that Clarke deserves. "Are you just going to hang out?"

"I'm going to go home and seriously assess my puppy readiness. They chew things, right? Do they stick their tongues in electrical outlets? What am I looking at here?"

Octavia snorts. "It's a good thing Bell's gonna help you out."

"I've got google," Clarke says, smiling. "But, yeah. Definitely good."

"If you're not here when the dog shows up, I'll call," says Octavia. "Don't freak out too much. He's not going to let you crash and burn."

The sentiment makes her feel simultaneously grateful and guilty, and also a little warm and fuzzy, so Clarke figures her best bet is to just ignore it. For all she knows, Bellamy is just a nice guy who likes dogs and is already in a relationship.

But if he's not, maybe they can make out.

"Sounds good," says Clarke. "See you in a bit."

Honestly, Clarke thinks she doesn't have a bad puppy environment. She owns a small house with a fenced-in yard, which is a good start. She lives on the first floor and rents the second to her friend Monty, who does tech stuff from home and expressed a lot of enthusiasm about the possibility of having regular access to a puppy. So there's another person to help out, let him outside while Clarke is at work and give him some attention.

"I'm getting a dog!" she yells up the stairs. "And a cute boy is going to come help get everything set up."

"Your day has been way more exciting than mine!" Monty calls back. "Where did the cute boy come from?" he adds, when he gets downstairs.

"He's the vet around the corner. I brought him the puppy and then accidentally told the rescue people that we were dating."

Monty is quiet for a while, and then finally says, "How?"

"You know what they say. When you assume you make an ass out of--thinking someone is dating their hot veterinarian."

"That's my second favorite idiom, after _what the fuck, Clarke_."

She laughs. "I know, I know. I don't know either! They thought I wasn't experienced enough to take on a rescue dog, so I told them he'd help, and I meant, like, I could text him in case of emergencies, but they thought I meant he was going to be my puppy co-parent."

"And instead of correcting them--"

"If I corrected them I didn't get a dog!"

Monty shakes his head. "I'm looking forward to telling this story at your wedding."

"If I marry the vet?"

"Honestly, I don't care who you marry, I'll find a way to work it in. That needs to happen."

She laughs. "Yeah, okay. Do you know anything about puppies?"

"They're adorable."

"This is why I needed a fake boyfriend who's a vet."

"I'll see what I can come up with on google," Monty decides, and she grins.

"Yeah, that was my plan too."

She and Monty are honestly just watching videos of puppies in sprinklers when Bellamy texts, _My last appointment for the day is done, so stop by whenever._ It's very different from _The puppy is here_ and involves her hanging out with him more, which she's down with, so she extricates herself from Monty and the couch and walks back to Bellamy's office. As expected, there's no sign of the puppy yet, just Octavia sitting on the counter and Bellamy lying on one of the benches with his arm over his face.

"Bad day?" she asks.

"Your puppy might have kept me up," he says. "I wanted it to be a surprise. Because I wanted you to keep it."

"Anything else you haven't told me about how bad my dog is?" she asks, amused.

He really seems to be thinking it over. "Well, they're probably right about him taking a while to--recover, I guess. He really likes you, that's a good start. But you're going to want to be careful with him and other people. You live alone?"

"I've got a housemate, he lives on the second floor. But it should be pretty easy to keep them apart? Like, Monty's upstairs, if the puppy doesn't want to see him he won't have to."

"So, you have a housemate, but I'm still the fake boyfriend you went with?" he asks, moving his arm off his face to smirk at her.

"Well, for one thing, Monty isn't a vet. I feel like if I'm going to accidentally make up a fake boyfriend, the veterinarian is a way better choice than my housemate who's also never had a dog." She pauses. "Also, I know he's gay, you could still be into women."

"Bi, yeah," he says.

She grins. "Cool, same." 

He offers his hand, and she gives him a high-five.

"You find anything about puppies on google?" Octavia asks.

"No, we mostly just ended up on YouTube looking at cute videos. So, yeah. I'm going to text Bellamy with a lot of puppy emergencies."

"I knew what I was getting into," he says.

"Did you?" asks Octavia. "Like, really? You saw this coming?"

"Shut up, O."

Octavia makes Clarke explain the conversation with Lexa, which is unfortunately not really much of a story. She kind of wishes there was more to it, honestly, because any situation where you accidentally end up convincing someone you're dating a veterinarian you barely know should yield a slightly more exciting anecdote than _I just said he'd be around_.

"It's sweet, though," Octavia says, grinning at her brother. "That you already figured out he's a giant softy who would help you out with your new puppy as much as needed."

"He did take him home so he wouldn't be alone," Clarke says.

Bellamy puts his arm over his face again. "Shut up, O."

"Have you thought of a name yet, Clarke?" 

"Oh, um--good question. What are good dog names?"

"Roman historical figures are appropriate for every occasion, " says Octavia. 

"Shut up, O," Bellamy says again, but he smiles at Clarke. "I got to pick her name. She's bitter."

"It's a nice name. Unique. And I bet people don't think you're a guy all the time. I get so many emails to _Mr. Griffin_ at work."

There's a knock on the door and Bellamy jerks up, like he's trying to look like a professional. Octavia stays on the counter, unconcerned, and grins at the guy who comes in. "Don't worry, Bell, it's just Lincoln. He knows you're not an adult."

"I'm such an adult, I pay all kinds of taxes," says Bellamy. "Hey, Lincoln. You've got a puppy for us?"

"I have to say, the two of you are going to have your hands full with this one," he says. "He wasn't letting our vets near him."

"Really? He was fine with me."

Clarke is already going over to the carrier Lincoln has, kneeling down. She sees her puppy crouched in the back, far away, and she's undoing the latch and opening the door before she's thought about it.

"Hey," she says, soft. "Hey, I'm back. Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were gonna be okay."

The puppy sniffs the air, and Clarke hears his tail start to thump as he comes toward her. 

"That's encouraging," Lincoln remarks.

"Yeah, he really likes her," Bellamy says. He's sitting down next to her, close enough their shoulders are brushing. Very convincing. "It's probably why he was okay with me."

"I just feed things until they love me," Clarke says. The puppy climbs into her lap, and she hugs him.

"That's exactly how we started dating," Bellamy tells Lincoln.

"I don't think he likes cages," Clarke adds, a little accusatory.

"No, I'm sorry. I have a pickup truck and I was worried about leaving him in the back alone."

Clarke smiles. "Sorry. I'm already pretty attached."

"Don't apologize for that. I'm glad. We were worried about finding a place for him, but I think the two of you will do a good job. Are you ready to go, Octavia?" he adds, and Clarke is caught off-guard when Octavia comes over, kisses Lincoln, and slides her hand into his.

"Have fun with the new dog, kids," she says, and then they're gone.

"I lied about our relationship status to your sister's boyfriend," Clarke says, blank.

Bellamy scratches the puppy's ear. "Not directly. He texted her about it, she said it was kind of new and I'm emotionally stunted, but it's going well. We came up with some backstory to give him while we were waiting for you."

"Is that why you were lying on the bench looking like you wanted to die?"

"Nah, that's pretty standard." He offers her a smile. "So, you want to go get puppy stuff? I have some things in the background I can just give you."

"I can pay," she protests. "You don't have to do all this for free."

"It's just some pee pads and stuff. Put a twenty into one of the donation buckets and we'll call it even."

She puts in thirty bucks while he's getting ready to go, and donates the carrier back to them for good measure.

"So, what's our backstory?" she asks, once they're in his car. It's old and kind of smells like wet dog, but she supposes she's not surprised. He looked vaguely embarrassed as he hauled stuff off the seat, and she's determined to not make him feel any worse. He's being so fucking _great_.

"Huh?"

"The dating backstory you and your sister came up with."

"Oh, nothing complicated. You live nearby, I'd seen you in passing, we ran into each other at the store or something, you asked me out."

"I asked you?"

He grins at her sidelong. "You did make the first move."

"I did make the first move."

"And my sister likes to believe I'm inept and incapable of starting a relationship. I let her have that one."

"I hear that's normal for sisters."

"Only child?"

"Yeah." She strokes the puppy. "My best friend Wells, he's kind of like my brother, but--I know it's different."

"Yeah." They lapse into silence, and then he asks, "Figured out a name yet?"

"No. I definitely shouldn't have kids, this is already way too much pressure."

He laughs. "Well, if it helps, the dog will never know he has a shitty name."

"Yeah, I feel so much better."

"No problem."

"I had a hamster when I was eight. I named her Henrietta." He snorts, and she laughs. "I thought it was dignified!"

"Oh yeah, and the last thing you want is an undignified hamster." He drums his fingers on the wheel. "I tend to recommend fictional or mythological characters, unless something jumps out at you. Any favorite books you want to honor?"

Clarke rubs the puppy's ear between her fingers. He's curled in her lap, sleeping happily. He's mostly tan with a white muzzle and stomach, and two white feet. He's adorable. "Would it be weird to name a puppy after something my dad liked if he was allergic to dogs?"

"Did he not like dogs?"

"He liked them fine."

"Then I think you're good. What were you thinking?"

"He used to read me _Lord of the Rings_ when I was a kid, so--Faramir. Is that too long?"

Bellamy laughs. "You have the most pet-naming anxiety of anyone I have ever met," he says. "And I do regular pet adoption drives."

"Shut up. I just--I don't want to screw him up. He's had a shitty life up until now, and I had to lie to get them to let me keep him, so--"

"Hey, if I thought you were gonna screw this up, I would have called them and said you weren't a good match," Bellamy says, sobering. "You're going to be fine, Clarke. And I think that's a good name. Unless you're worried about nicknames."

"Nicknames?"

"Faramir doesn't really lend itself to anything. Fair? Mir?" He grins. "As a Clarke, you wouldn't get this, but if your name is three syllables, people tend to want to shorten it."

"Bellamy," she says, slow, sounding it out. "I like Bellamy." And then it feels weird, so she hastens to add, "I'm pretty sure I'm just gonna call him _puppy_ half the time."

"Yeah, you're gonna do fine." He reaches over, fingers brushing Clarke's as he pets the puppy's head. "Hey, Faramir. Let's start spoiling you, huh?"

It's not that busy at the pet store, so Clarke puts Faramir on the leash Bellamy gave her, unwilling to leave him alone again. She's going to have to eventually, but--he's had such a stressful couple days. She can wait until Monday for that. And he seems happier sticking close to her than she thinks he'd be alone in the car.

She trusts Bellamy's suggestions for food and toys, letting him fill her cart up with a ton of stuff, because every time he says she doesn't _need_ this, but it would be good to have, she tells him to get it. If he wanted to scam her, he'd probably be selling her stuff at his own office, not at Petsmart. Unless he's a major stockholder, she doesn't see much endgame for him here.

It's not until the crates that she tries to object.

"He probably had a cage before," she says.

"A cage, yeah. A crate is different."

"Yeah, there's a whole extra letter."

He rolls his eyes. "Clarke. You found him hiding under a dumpster. That was because he felt safe there. Dogs like having places of their own. It's not somewhere you force him to go, it's somewhere he gets to think of as his. We'll get him a nice one. There are plenty that don't look like cages. It helps with house training too, and I promise he'll be happy to have it."

"A nice one?" Clarke asks.

"Trust me." He bumps his shoulder against hers. "Some of them are cloth."

"I guess you are the expert. I just--he likes me. I don't want to--"

"I know," Bellamy says, gentle. "Like I said, I'm here to help. That's what I bring to this relationship, so--"

She laughs. "Fine, I'll get a fucking crate. Shut up."

Once they get back, she tries halfheartedly to convince him he doesn't have to come in, which is ineffective both because she doesn't really want him to go and because she really could use the help. Luckily, he just rolls his eyes and grabs the box with the crate and lets her unlock the door.

"We have a puppy!" she yells to Monty. "And a vet!"

"Awesome!" Monty yells back. "Be down in a sec!"

Faramir wants to smell everything, and he's clearly kind of overwhelmed, so Clarke closes the kitchen and bathroom door, limiting the dog to just the living room and her bedroom, since he's still too small to get up the stairs. It limits his scope to his immediate surroundings, where Bellamy and Clarke are getting the crate set up, and after a lot of running around and sniffing, he finally decides his best option is just to sit by Clarke. Which is how Monty finds them when he makes it down half an hour later.

"Hey," he says, giving Bellamy a small wave.

Bellamy stands, offers his had with a smile. "Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Bellamy."

"Monty." His eyes light up. "Sorry, you're not as exciting as a puppy."

"Yeah, don't worry, I get that all the time." He glances at Clarke. "You're probably set, I can get going."

"Oh, no!" she says, startling so hard it dislodges the puppy. "I said I'd buy you pizza, right? Seriously, I owe you."

"You don't, but I never say no to pizza."

It's a pretty great evening, really. Bellamy relaxes and gets out of _I'm just here in a professional capacity mode_ pretty quickly, so they watch TV and play with the puppy and hang out with Monty, and when he's taking off, he tells her to text, and she tells him thanks a few more times, and she's not entirely sure how they agree he'll come by after work the next day, just to check in.

"You really picked the right guy to pretend to date," Monty says, with some admiration. "Incredibly hot _and_ good with animals. And cool."

"Right?" Clarke asks. "I have the best taste in fake boyfriends."

*

The next day is weird. It almost feels like having a very enthusiastic, non-communicative, slightly paranoid house guest; Clarke feels like she should be entertaining Faramir at all times, but it's not like he really needs her hovering. He seems to like each person Clarke introduces him to slightly less than the person before, so he likes her best, then Bellamy, then Monty, but Monty is patient. He sits outside with them while Faramir tears around the yard, with a kind of heartbreaking puppy joy that makes Clarke suspect he's never interacted with so much grass before in his life, and hangs out on the couch, letting Faramir approach him rather than trying to force interaction.

Bellamy's open from ten to two on Saturdays, so he comes by at around two-thirty, his tie loose around his neck, his hair a mess. "Hey, how's it going?"

"Fine. You look terrible."

His mouth quirks. "Thanks."

Clarke takes his arm, sits him on the couch, puts Faramir in his lap, and goes to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. Then she settles in next to him. "I meant it in a nice way."

"The nice kind of terrible."

"Basically. Everything okay?"

"Shitty day. And before you tell me I didn't have to come by, there's a puppy in my lap and a pretty girl taking care of me, so my life is really looking up. How's he doing?"

He breezes by _pretty girl_ so quickly that she feels weird dwelling on it. "I think pretty well. He likes the yard a lot. He's good enough with Monty that I'm not worried about having him let him out while I'm at work. I think he'll be good company."

"Cool."

She nudges him. "Do you want to talk about your shitty day with an almost complete stranger?"

He snorts. "Octavia said Lincoln thought we were a cute couple, so we're very convincing complete strangers."

"Good for us."

Sighing, he leans his head back on the couch, stroking the puppy. "One of my regular patients came in. Older woman, recently widowed. She was bringing her cat by for a routine checkup, but--we had to put her down. She had kidney failure and just--it was the right thing, of course it was the right thing, I wouldn't have done it if it wasn't, but--"

"I'm sorry."

"Worse for her than for me. Octavia put a note in the file, we're going to call and follow-up in a month, see if we have any good foster pets to recommend to her."

Clarke has to smile. "That's sweet."

"Pets are nice to have around."

Part of her wants to hug him, or just lean in for some comfort, but--they barely know each other. So she just shifts in so she can pet the dog too, and that brings her close enough that she's touching him too. "Do you have any pets?"

"Not right now. My, uh--my dog actually passed away a few months ago too."

"I'm sorry."

"It means I don't mind helping you," he says, smiling. "I'm not ready to get another of my own yet, so this is a nice way to get back into it."

"Hanging out with a girl you barely know?"

"And a puppy." His smile is lopsided. "Besides, all my friends say I need more friends."

"Mine too," she admits. The only person she knows here in town is Wells; the rest of her close friends, Wells and Raven and the people she has from college, are scattered around the country.

She thinks it will be weird having Bellamy hanging out again too, more of the awkward house guest issue, because once he's finished his water and recovered a little, he just wants to talk puppy stuff, in full vet mode, but it turns out it's actually hard to maintain a professional distance from the situation when a puppy is licking your face. He looks better by the time he's leaving, more relaxed and happier, and Clarke feels a little less guilty for dragging him out.

The guilt returns on Monday, when she gets back from work and finds that Faramir has destroyed one of her shoes and peed on the bathmat.

 _I need advice on animal urine_ , she texts.

_I'll be over in like twenty minutes._

He shows up wearing jeans and a tight white t-shirt, and Clarke remembers, with a twist of guilt, that he's _closed_ on Mondays. She was thinking he was just coming after he finished work, but nope.

"I'll buy you the takeout of your choice," she says. "I was thinking you could give advice over text."

"Oh yeah, I definitely could have. I wanted to come check out the damage."

"I'm starting to worry about your relationship with urine."

"I get that a lot." He kneels down and offers his hand to Faramir. "You missed her, huh?"

"I was hoping Monty taking him out and hanging out would be enough, but Faramir didn't really show much interest in him, apparently."

"It's gonna be rough going for a while," Bellamy tells her. "We all warned you."

"I know. This is guilt, not anger."

"Neither is gonna do you much good. We'll do some puppy-proofing, and he'll get used to it. He has to. This is normal."

They spend the evening figuring out a new plan for where Faramir can hang out when Clarke has work (in the living room, which has access to his crate and can be shut off from the rest of the house) and making sure the number of things he can destroy in there is minimal. Then they get takeout and watch _Supergirl_ and Bellamy goes on a rant about how stupid the New 52 is, which is adorable. It's possible Bellamy is her new favorite human.

And he doesn't seem to mind that role at all. For the first few days, she only texts with dog questions, but it's not long before other things bleed in. She texts when Dante has unreasonable demands and when she wants to strangle her mother, and he texts her with pet names worse than Faramir and updates on weird Netflix documentaries he's watching. She starts taking Faramir on walks past the animal hospital in the morning, before work, and Bellamy very rapidly stops pretending he won't come with them, and is always waiting on the steps with his coffee, ready to go. He comes over after work a few nights a week, and, much like her texting, he moves rapidly from _ostensibly dog-related_ to just plain friendship.

Which is great.

It's been about a month when he says, overly casual, on a Thursday, "Hey, it's my friend Miller's birthday tomorrow. Or, uh, his birthday was yesterday, but he's having a party tomorrow."

They've talked enough about their lives by now for her to know that Miller is Bellamy's best friend and ex-boyfriend (because Bellamy is one of those weird people who breaks up with people and turns them into friends after) and that they went to college together. He is very sarcastic and makes fun of Bellamy all the time, which seems to the basis of be every single significant relationship in Bellamy's life.

"And you're upset you have to be social?"

"We're getting drinks at the bar where Gina works." Gina is his ex-girlfriend, because, again, Bellamy loves his exes. "O and Lincoln are coming, so, uh--he'd probably think it was weird if you weren't there."

Clarke blinks, because--okay, she mostly forgets about the whole fake boyfriend thing. She'd gotten a call from Lexa at the rescue two weeks in, to see how it was going, and it hadn't been hard to drop a lot of mentions of Bellamy into the conversation, because they're friends now, and hang out a lot. And Octavia still sometimes makes jokes about it, as does Monty. But it's not like they're actively deceiving anyone, most of the time.

"Not that I wouldn't--" Bellamy is saying, awkward. "Miller wants to meet you, so I would have invited you anyway. But you might have to come and also pretend to be dating me."

"Does Miller know about the whole--"

"Yeah. Gina doesn't, but Octavia would have told Miller if I didn't." He leans down to pet the dog, probably as a diversionary tactic. "No big deal if you're busy."

"No, that sounds really fun. I love pretending I have a social life. My coworkers are gonna be so confused when I say I have plans on a Friday."

"They will definitely think you were replaced by a pod person," he says, flashing her a grin. "Monty can come too, if you want. Basically any friends you want to bring. Assume this is me officially moving to merge our friend groups."

"Wow, that's quite a step."

"You're the one who took us from zero to fake relationship in like a day," he points out.

"True." She looks down on her smile. "Thanks for inviting me."

"Don't thank me," he says. "You haven't met my friends yet."

When he texts her the address the next day, she has a sudden moment of panic, and responds, _What do fake girlfriends do?_

 _No idea_ , he replies. _I've never had or been one. You should be really nice to me and talk about how good I am in bed all the time._

_From what I've heard about your previous relationships, that's not what you're into at all._

_True. Just be yourself, you'll be fine._

It makes her feel stupidly happy, so obviously the only reaction is to avoid examining it. _What about you? How are you planning to be a fake boyfriend?_

_Fight anyone who looks at you wrong, get drunk, drool on your chest._

_Your understanding of my kinks is uncanny._

There's a long pause, and then he says, _Doing my best. See you tonight._

"So, we're pretending you and Bellamy are dating, even though half of us know it's a lie anyway, and it's really obvious you _should_ be dating," Monty says, low, as they head into the bar.

"Basically," Clarke says. "You're the best."

"This is why I don't care that we don't have cable."

"And because you stream everything."

"Yeah, but mostly this." 

Clarke spots Bellamy, Lincoln, and Octavia at the bar, waves to Octavia when she glances over. Octavia grins and nudges the guy on her other side, some cute boy in a beanie, and he glances over too. Bellamy spots them last, but his smile is widest.

She's never actually seen him drunk; it might be exciting.

"Hey!" he says, slings his arm around her and nuzzles her hair. 

Clarke might be glowing. "Hey," she says, sliding her own arm around his waist, hesitant. He's warm like a furnace, solid, and smells like alcohol and rubbing alcohol in equal measures. She's started to find the clinical smell of antiseptics comforting, hanging out with him so much. "Did you tell us to show up late so you'd already be drunk?"

"So, my birthday is exactly six months before Miller's," Bellamy says. "So we're birthday buddies and have to match each other shot for shot."

"And I wanted to do shots," says beanie guy. He offers his hand. "Nathan Miller. You must be Clarke."

"Nice to meet you. Is it weird if I call you Miller? That's all Bellamy calls you, I'm used to it."

"Dude, we've been friends for ten years, when are you gonna learn my name?" Miller asks, dry, and Bellamy leans over to plant a smacking kiss on his cheek.

"You're the best, Nedward. Happy birthday." He throws his other arm around Monty, drawing him in. "Oh, and this is Monty."

"Clarke's cute gay housemate," says Miller.

"Is that really the reputation I'm working now?" Monty asks. "That's _awesome_. I feel like I've finally arrived."

"I think you could do better," Clarke says. "Like, come on. Define yourself, Monty. Be the cute gay computer programmer. Forge your own identity."

"Honestly, as long as I'm cute and gay," Monty says. "Happy birthday," he adds, to Miller.

"He's my cute gay ex, for the record," Bellamy says. He lets go of Monty in such a way that he definitely pushes him toward Miller, which is totally unsubtle, and Clarke feels a wave of stupid affection for him. "You want a drink?" he asks Clarke.

"I better, or I'm never going to catch up with you. Is that Gina? Do I get to meet all your exes at once? Is this a trial by fire thing?"

"That is Gina, but none of my exes are scary, and they're all excited about you. I haven't dated anyone in a while."

It should make her feel guilty, given they're lying, but Miller _knows_ they're lying, so he's probably just happy about making fun of Bellamy. And she's still tucked into his side with his arm around her, which is _awesome_. If being out with their friends means she gets to snuggle with Bellamy all night, they're going to do this every week.

Gina's bright and friendly, with a wry sense of humor that Clarke likes. She comps Clarke's first drink and demands that Clarke tell her how they got together. Clarke raises her eyebrows at Bellamy. "Have you been denying your friends information about our relationship?"

"No," Bellamy says, scowling. "She knows. Be nice."

"I know _Bellamy's_ side," Gina says. 

"And you think he's biased?"

"His side is adorable. You know, pining over the pretty girl who walked by his office, never knowing how to talk to her, and then--I don't know, you just thinking he was hot at the grocery store is kind of a let down."

"I thought he was hot before," Clarke says, without thinking. "Come on, he sits on his steps drinking coffee and looking dark and brooding every morning. And he's a _veterinarian_. Of course I thought he was hot. But what was I going to do? Go sit with him on the stairs? I was going to work and I'd never met him. The grocery store was just my first opportunity to talk to him, and I took it."

"Lucky you, Bell," says Gina. "You were never going to figure out."

"The first move is the hardest," he says. "I helped with the next couple, though."

"Team effort," Clarke agrees.

It's a fun night. She gets to know Lincoln, who's quiet, but also smart and passionate and into art, like many of her favorite people are. He asks after Faramir, and she has about twenty billion photos of him on her phone, which she then has to show to everyone. For a second, she worries that Bellamy's not in enough of them, but--cute pictures of Bellamy holding her puppy and grinning are apparently something that she's into. That's roughly half of them.

Honestly, she's pretty sure it would be harder to make it look like they _weren't_ dating. No one would be convinced.

Monty goes home with Miller, and Bellamy insists on walking Clarke back to the house.

"I'd give you a ride, but I have to sober up anyway."

"You just want to see the puppy."

"I do want to see the puppy. He hasn't peed on me in so long. I'm gonna sleep on your couch and he can pee on me in the night."

Clarke collapses into his side, giggling. "You talk about dog urine more than anyone I have ever met."

"Good. I'd be really worried if you knew anyone who was beating me." His arm is around her again, and he kisses her hair. "My friends really liked you. They're going to want you to hang out more."

"I want to hang out too. I like them too." 

"Awesome. You should. I'm gonna ask a lot more."

"The puppy's going to feel abandoned if we go out all the time."

"We can stay in too." He wets his lips, looks down at her and then back. "Uh--you're drunk, right?"

"Kind of."

"Me too. So--I'm gonna come over tomorrow. And talk to you."

"As opposed to when you usually come over and refuse to talk to me."

At the door, he slides his hand up to cup her cheek, leans down and presses her mouth to hers, very soft and very fast, just a whisper of a kiss.

"Talk about that," he says. "Say hi to the dog for me. I'll see him tomorrow too."

She collapses against the door inside, boneless, mouth tingling from even the briefest contact. Faramir jumps up on her, and she barely even manages to say, "No, down, boy." She scratches his head, and then picks him up so he can lick her. "Yeah, I get it. I'm excited too."

*

Clarke's jittery the whole next day, waiting for Bellamy to finish with work. She takes Faramir for a longer than normal walk and plays fetch with him until he flops down in sheer exhaustion. She can't help noticing how much better he looks, belly up in the grass. He's put on weight, and while he still isn't great with new people or crowds, he loves Monty, he loves her, he loves Bellamy.

She was the right choice for this.

Bellamy lets himself in the gate and comes over to sit down next to her, tugging off his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt. "No answer at the door, I figured you were out here."

She leans her head on his shoulder. "How was work?"

"Fucking terrible."

"Shit, what happened?"

He laughs, presses his lips against her hair. "Nothing. I was at work instead of here with you, mostly. And, honestly, I was kind of worried I fucked up. Thought maybe you were just putting on a good show for--"

Clarke leans up and presses her mouth to his. It's supposed to be like his kiss last night, quick and soft, an affirmation, but when his hand slides around the back of her neck, she loses all desire to pull away. His mouth is warm and firm, and he kisses her like he's in no hurry at all, like this is all he wants. By the time he finally draws back, still close enough she can taste his breath, she's practically melted.

"So, that's okay," he says, husky.

"That's great."

"Good."

She laughs, kisses him again, quick. "That's it?"

"I'm trying very hard to convince you I'm cool."

"Yeah, you know you text me detailed opinions on documentaries, right? That ship has sailed."

"In that case, please tell me I can buy you dinner. Like, a lot. I want this puppy to have a family, Clarke."

"Just using me for my dog, huh?"

"In my defense, you started it." He's grinning, wide and bright, and Clarke can't help smiling back. She lets her own hand slide into his hair, discovering the feel of it in her fingers, thick and soft. "I was all ready to play this long game, offering you occasional tips on dog care, working up to asking you out."

"And then I accidentally told the rescue place we were dating."

"Zero to fake dating in no time," he teases.

"By accident!" She ducks her head down to rest against his shoulder. He smells a little sweaty, with hints of antiseptic and deodorant like always, and she doesn't know how she wasn't doing this sooner. "I really didn't mean to tell them that. I was planning to just keep asking you awkward dog questions too."

"At least I know my plan would have worked." He tilts her head up to kiss her again. "So, can I buy you dinner? Or are you still convinced you have to buy me dinner all the time because I'm not getting anything out of this?"

"Are you saying you don't like free dinner?"

He makes a show of thinking it over. "Split it?"

"Deal."

It's a lot like most of their Saturdays, Bellamy on the couch with her, Faramir gnawing on a chew toy or squirming in her lap or sleeping in her crate, except Bellamy can't stop touching her, and when Monty gets back, he definitely catches them making out.

"Thank god," he says.

"You didn't come home last night, you don't get to talk."

"I met a guy I liked and hooked up with him," Monty says, rolling his eyes. "And have a date tomorrow. You met a guy you liked, didn't ask him out, accidentally made up a relationship with him to get a dog that the rescue place thought you didn't deserve, and still took like a month to get it together. I'm talking. I'm never shutting up. I'm still telling this story at your wedding."

She's a little worried Bellamy will find the wedding comment weird, but all he says is, "We deserve that," and so she snuggles closer.

She can deal with a lot of mockery, if this is what she gets. 

*

She makes it another two months before her guilt gets the better of her. They're at Gina's bar again, and they're all toasting how the Polis Pitbull Rescue found the dog-fighting ring they think Faramir escaped from. Lincoln is beaming with pride, and Clarke's relieved, but she also feels, well, _bad_. Not that she's not an excellent caretaker for Faramir, and not that Bellamy hasn't been involved since the beginning. And, of course, they're officially dating now, so it's not even a lie anymore.

But still. Lincoln's out there, saving dogs from terrible fates and putting them in good homes, and Clarke feels shitty having lied to him. Especially because they're _friends_ now.

"Me and Bellamy weren't dating," she tells him and Gina. She might be drunk. "I mean we are. But we weren't."

The two of them exchange a look. Lincoln says, slow, "That is how it usually works."

"No, I mean--when we met. We weren't dating. I accidentally told your boss--I didn't _tell_ her, but your boss thought--"

"Oh," Lincoln says to Gina. "She means the fake dating thing."

"Oh!" says Gina. "Aww, that's so sweet of her to finally tell us."

Clarke frowns. "You knew?"

Lincoln glances over to where Bellamy and Octavia are playing foosball with Monty and Miller, a fond smile on his face. "You didn't really think Octavia was going to lie to me about her brother's relationship status, did you? Not when she needed someone to talk to about how ridiculous it was that he wouldn't just ask you out. She'd been complaining to me about his pathetic crush on you since before she knew your name."

"Oh."

"She told me Bellamy would definitely help with the dog, so I wasn't really concerned."

"Did he know?"

"I don't think so." He clears his throat. "I think she might have also wanted an excuse to make him pretend to date you in a social setting. She thought it was hilarious."

"I can't actually argue that one." She gives Lincoln a smile. "Still, sorry I lied." And then it occurs to her to ask Gina, "Wait, how did _you_ know?"

"Your cover story was terrible, sorry. It was just really obviously not true. So I asked Miller, and he told me the real story, which is so much better, so, yeah." She shrugs. "When did you guys really get together? I knew it happened, but I never got the details."

"The first night I met you, basically."

Gina laughs and slides her a beer. "So, one night of cuddling and actually pretending to be in a relationship with him and you couldn't hold back anymore?"

"Hey, I was being very cool and smooth," Clarke protests, grinning. "He was the one who jumped me. I'm irresistible."

"So you would have waited another day," Lincoln supplies.

"Maybe two."

"A day," Lincoln says again, and Clarke clinks her beer against his.

"Literally everyone knew we weren't really dating but wanted to be," she tells Bellamy, when they get back to her house.

Bellamy kneels down to let Faramir jump all over him. "Huh?"

"Lincoln and Gina both knew about the fake dating thing, they just wanted us to have to pretend for their own sick amusement. Octavia was in on it. Miller too. Everyone was in on it."

He pauses to give this information due consideration. "Yeah, that sounds like my asshole friends." He leans down to rub Faramir's ears. "You want to go outside before bed, buddy?"

Clarke bites back on her own smile. "You've got him?"

"I've got him." He kisses her, quick and sweet. "See you in bed."

She rolls into him when he gets back, burrowing into his bare chest, sighing in contentment when his arms come up around her. "They thought I jumped you because you're so good at cuddling," she tells him.

"I am really awesome at cuddling."

"Yeah, but--it was going to be you being adorable with the puppy that did me in. It was only a matter of time."

He presses his lips against her hair. "That was my diabolical master plan, yeah. Be really cute with the puppy until I made you love me."

"Mission accomplished," she says, already half asleep.

In the morning, he wants her say it a few more times, and she obliges him. And when he puts his arm around her on Faramir's morning walk, leans in close and murmurs, "I love you too," she has to admit, he might actually be cuter than her puppy.

But just barely.

**Author's Note:**

> Bellamy POV [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12805521/chapters/29658174)!


End file.
